


Rub Me the Right Way

by BeckyHarvey29



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Genie Ian, Humor, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 03:19:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12832206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeckyHarvey29/pseuds/BeckyHarvey29
Summary: Mickey stumbles across a weird kettle after a drunken night out and gets the surprise of his life. To his chagrin, the stranger won't go away, and he is granted three wishes. What happens when the one thing he eventually wishes for can never really be his?





	Rub Me the Right Way

Mickey Milkovich was making his way home from the bar, some fucking shithole called The Manhole. It was nearly two in the morning, cold as all fuck outside, and he was starting to regret not calling for an Uber, like the shitty bartender had suggested. 

He’d drank nearly half his weight in alcohol, had gotten fucked nice and good in a dim, dirty bathroom stall, and he still he didn’t feel satisfied. He had really hoped taking a trip to Boystown that night would get the fact that he had a dead-end job, a boring-ass repetitive life, and an ex-boyfriend who'd dumped him with no warning or explanation out of his head. 

No matter how much alcohol he’d consumed, or how good he’d gotten fucked by some nameless stranger, Mickey’s life still blew. His life still felt empty, meaningless. His life was still devoid of any and all happiness. 

Mickey was starting to think that he wasn’t meant to be happy, that he was destined to live his life alone and fucking miserable. 

After passing a group of teenagers smoking a joint in the middle of the sidewalk, Mickey stumbled a little off to the side and bent over, feeling bile rise up to the back of his throat. Once the feeling of nausea passed, he straightened up, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and continued on his way, ignoring a smart-ass remark from one of the weed-toting jokers.

He was too drunk, exhausted, and cold to partake in a scuffle like old times.

As he was making his way down the littered, dilapidated sidewalk, something shiny caught his attention. He briefly thought about ignoring whatever it was, figuring it was probably just a piece of junk among the other trash, but something stopped him (fucking _pulled_ him) and he froze in his step. He walked over to the object and picked it up. It was gold, shiny, and it kind of looked like a tea kettle; a really fancy, old tea kettle. It looked fucking expensive, which was why Mickey held it against his side and continued on his staggering way.

Mickey stumbled into his cramped, shitty, one-bedroom apartment without bothering to turn on any lights. He shrugged out of his coat, dropped the garment to the floor, and then made his way over to the couch. He collapsed onto the threadbare piece of shit face-first. He still held the strange, gold tea kettle thing in his hand and eyed it through hooded, bleary eyes. 

In the back of his addled mind, he wondered how much he could get for the thing down at the pawn shop at the end of the block. He slowly rubbed his thumb against the kettle, over what looked to be a bird of some sort engraved on the side.

Mickey’s eyes began to droop, the alcohol thrumming through his veins finally doing its job in knocking him out, easing his pain. Right before he passed out, though, he saw what looked to be green-tinted smoke coming from the strange tea kettle. He didn’t smell fire or any shit like that. He was too exhausted to care, and he allowed himself to slip into unconsciousness. 

Mickey startled awake a while later when he heard a crash, and he pushed himself up on his arms to look around. He had no idea how long he had been asleep, nor did he have any fucking idea what it was that had woken him. He glanced towards the window to see the sky colored in streaks of pink, purple, and orange. It looked to be right before dawn.

He then realized he wasn’t alone in the room, and he shot to his feet, his fists raised, ready to fight whoever it was that had broken into his apartment.

The guy standing in front of him was fucking hot as fuck, Mickey couldn’t deny that. He had bright red hair and piercing green eyes, and, for some fucking reason, he wasn’t wearing a shirt, showing off his cut chest and chiseled abs. Mickey didn’t know if the guy had on glitter or some shit, but the guy’s skin seemed to have a slight sheen to it. 

“Who the fuck are you, and why the fuck are you in my apartment right now?”

The guy stared back at Mickey in wonderment, the corner of his mouth quirked in amusement as his eyes took Mickey in.

Mickey’s eyebrows shot up as the guy continued staring at him wordlessly. The nerve of this fucking guy, breaking into his place and then having the balls to fucking smile about it. Mickey thought about the gun he kept in his bedside table, and the fifteen or so steps it would take to get to it. 

“Answer me, fuckhead,” Mickey snapped, taking a step back towards his bedroom. 

“You’re mouthy,” the guy said, his voice like honey. “I like that.”

Mickey scoffed and dropped his eyes, taking in the sight of the guy’s emerald-colored baggy pants and bare feet. “The fuck are you wearing MC Hammer pants for? It’s fucking two-thousand-seventeen.”

The guy frowned and looked down at his attire. “Hammer pants? I don’t know what that is. These are _my_ pants.”

Mickey was starting to get pissed. “Alright, look, I’m gonna count to ten. If you’re not outta my apartment by then, I have a Glock .45 in my room that I’m not afraid to fuckin’ use.”

“Glock for the five?” the guy asked, his eyebrows furrowing. 

“Yeah, a fuckin’ Glock,” Mickey snapped, his eyebrows still arched menacingly. When the guy tilted his head in question, Mickey elaborated. “You fuckin’ stupid or something? It’s a gun. I have a fuckin’ gun, and I won’t hesitate to use it.”

“Oh,” the man said. His eyes then lit up almost comically. “Do you wish for more guns?”

“What? Fuck. No. I wish for you to go the fuck away, that’s what I wish for.” Mickey knew he should just pummel the guy. In any other instance, he would have, but something was stopping him from doing so. The guy, even though he was standing uninvited in the middle of Mickey’s living room, seemed harmless… nonthreatening. Innocent.

The guy smiled, his head still tilted, regarding Mickey as if he was a silly child. “You can’t wish for me to leave. That’s one thing you cannot wish for. I have to give you your three wishes before I can leave. It’s my duty.”

“Three fuckin’ wishes,” Mickey grumbled, scrubbing a hand down his face. “This fuckin’ guy…” 

All Mickey wanted to do was pop some aspirin, take a hot shower, and sleep the day away. Not deal with a hot fucking weird-ass stranger that was lost in his living room. 

The intruder just watched him, waiting.

“I don’t know what your fuckin’ deal is, or why you’re dressed like a goddamn joker, but Halloween was, like, three fuckin’ months ago,” Mickey said as he looked the stranger over. “You a stripper or something? You get lost? You get the wrong apartment?”

“I’m not lost,” the man said. “You found me.”

“Look, I don’t know who the fuck you are, what your deal is, or where the fuck you’re from, but you’re clearly fuckin’…” Mickey paused to wave his hand around to indicate the idiot’s whole being, “…unhinged.” 

“Unhinged?” the man asked, the amused look no longer on his face.

Mickey sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face when the guy just stared back at him blankly. He glanced at the clock on the wall to see that it was already time for him to get ready for work. Fuck. That’s what he gets for going out on a fucking weeknight. He silently berated himself for using up all his sick days. Like hell his boss Fernando was going to let him take the day off.

“You need to go.”

“Go?”

“Yes. Go. Get the fuck out of here,” Mickey snapped. “Go somewhere else.”

“I have nowhere else to go,” the guy answered, his brows furrowed. 

Mickey rubbed hard at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, before finally sighing in resignation. The guy was clearly unstable, had no shirt or shoes, and the weather outside was frightful. It was already snowing and the temperature had to be in the twenties.

“Are you homeless?” Mickey finally asked, his hackles lowering slightly. Fuck, when did he become soft?

“No,” the man said. “I have a home. It’s right there.” He pointed to something behind Mickey’s back.

Mickey turned, seeing nothing but his threadbare couch, his nicked coffee table, and the tea kettle thing he had found the night before. He raised his eyebrows, realization dawning on him. “My couch? No, huh-uh, no fucking way! You are not staying here.”

“No, the lam—” the man interrupted, but Mickey was having none of it.

“Look, stay until it stops snowing or whatever,” Mickey said, heading towards his small bathroom. “I can give you money for an Uber if you need it. I don’t know where the fuck you’re going, but you can’t stay here.”

Before he could shut the bathroom door, the stranger called out, “What’s a hoober?”

Mickey just ignored the strange question and leaned back against the door, scrubbing a hand down his face. He couldn’t help but wonder if he had taken something last night. The shit happening in his living room right then was fucking surreal.

After quickly showering and brushing his teeth, Mickey reentered the living room to find the idiot still standing in the same spot he had been in. Mickey sighed. He didn’t have time to argue with the weirdo. He was already on thin ice at work, he couldn’t afford to be late. 

“I gotta go to work. Just be gone before I get back.” Mickey headed for the door and paused to throw over his shoulder. “And don’t steal any of my shit.”

  


* * *

  


When Mickey returned home from work later that afternoon, he heard music coming from inside his apartment. He frowned and fumbled with his keys a little as he hurried to unlock his door. To say that what he saw before him was the most bizarre fucking thing he’d ever seen is his life would have been an understatement. 

“The fuck?”

The guy was in the middle of the living room, his arms above his head and his hips swaying to the music. 

Mickey could only stare for a few seconds. The guy was fucking hot as all fuck, he couldn’t deny that. Still, he wanted him gone.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Mickey groused. “You’re listening to Genie in a fuckin’ Bottle? What fuckin' year is it?” 

The guy continued dancing as he looked at Mickey over his bare shoulder. “I found your music thing. Found a song with the word genie in the title. I like it.”

Mickey could feel himself blushing in embarrassment, and he thumbed nervously at his lower lip. “Fuck you, this song wasn’t on my iPod,” he lied. He then straightened up and furrowed his brows. “The fuck were you going through my shit for? And why the fuck aren’t you gone yet?”

“You know what a genie is?” the guy continued as if he hadn’t heard a word Mickey had said. “So, you know what I am, then?”

Mickey stared back stupidly, and then kicked into action, stalking over to his iPod and turning off the music. “Alright, fuckhead, I’m done playing your games. Get the fuck out of my apartment, or you and me are gonna have a problem. I was being nice before. No more fuckin’ nice guy.”

“You found my lamp,” the guy said, dropping his arms and turning to face Mickey. “You have to make three wishes before I can go. Those are the rules.”

“Whose fucking rules?” Mickey snapped.

“I’m not sure,” the guy answered, his eyebrows furrowed in thought. “I just know that those are the rules.”

“I’m about two seconds away from snapping the fuck out.”

“Make three wishes and—”

"Fuck you and your three wishes bullshit!"

"It's the only way I can go."

“Fuck, fine! Jesus! You want me to make a fucking wish? I’ll play your stupid game,” Mickey bellowed. “I wish I had a lifetime supply of fucking Snickers bars! Happy now? Now get off my back about making a fuckin’ wish.”

The guy stared back at him, his mouth set in a firm line. “I wish you’d take this seriously.”

Mickey closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. When he opened his eyes a few seconds later to throw a sarcastic remark the guy’s way, his breath caught in his throat at the sight in front of him. His fucking twelve by ten-foot living room was filled from floor to ceiling with Snickers bars, and not the shitty fun-sized kind either, the big kind.

“…Holy fuck.”

The guy smirked and crossed his arms over his chest. “Believe me now?”

“What…what the fuck…” Mickey stammered. “How the fuck did you do that?”

“I told you,” the guy answered, sighing. “I’m a genie. My name is Ian, by the way, not fuckhead.”

“The fuck did you do,” Mickey asked breathlessly, still trying to process the sight before him. “Wiggle your fucking nose and blink your eyes three times?”

Ian laughed goofily. “No, that doesn’t work. Why does everyone always ask me that?”

Mickey rubbed the back of his neck, his head swimming. How much did he fucking drink last night? Had someone slipped something into his drink? He had to be on something.

“Fuck, I need to sit down.” Mickey made his way to the couch and sat down, still taking in the fucking Mars Chocolate factory that was currently his living room. 

“Are you okay?” Ian asked, sitting down next to Mickey. “It’s okay. Take some time to process. This isn’t the first time someone freaked out on me.”

Mickey rubbed his lower lip with a shaky hand before turning his eyes towards Ian. “No way that just happened. You’re fuckin’ with me. How the fuck did you do that?”

“I can make almost anything happen, so long as it doesn’t harm anyone or take away someone’s free will.”

“Fuck,” Mickey breathed, desperately trying to wrap his head around it all. He knew he needed to start asking some serious questions. “Where the fuck did you come from?”

“My lamp,” Ian responded as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“No,” Mickey retorted, rubbing at his mouth. He then waved his hand in aggravation. “Where are you from? Where were you born? You had to come from somewhere, right?”

Ian looked down at his hands, his eyebrows furrowing. “I… I’m not sure. I don’t really know anything. I’m just… here.”

“How did you become a… fuck… a genie?”

“I don’t know.”

“How do you know your name is Ian?

“I’m not sure,” Ian answered, his eyebrows furrowed. “I just know that it is.”

Mickey thought it was pretty fucked up that the guy didn’t even know where he was from, or even how he had gotten his name, but he didn’t say anything about it, not wanting the guy to think he gave a shit or anything.

“I need to fuckin’ go lay down.”

Ian stood up as Mickey did, his face showing his concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just… back the fuck up,” Mickey warned when Ian took a step into his personal space. He made his way to his bedroom and closed the door behind himself. He got on the bed and buried himself under the covers, hoping that, by the time he woke up, the stupid fucking genie would be gone, and he could go back to his boring, uneventful, but normal fucking life.

  


* * *

  


“Ey, the fuck are you doing?” Mickey asked a short time later from the doorway of his bedroom.

“I found these under the television,” Ian answered, his eyes still focused on the TV. 

Mickey’s eyes flitted towards the TV when he heard a particularly loud, guttural moan and watched as the guy onscreen got railed relentlessly from behind. He stalked over and shut the damn thing off.

“What’s wrong?” Ian asked, his expression completely earnest and innocent.

“What’s wrong is you shouldn’t be going through my shit,” Mickey snapped, absolutely avoiding looking in Ian’s direction. "And you definitely shouldn't be watching that."

“I liked it though,” Ian said. “It made me feel good.”

Mickey finally snuck a look in Ian’s direction and immediately realized Ian was hard, his erection straining against the front of his stupid fucking pants. “Jesus Christ.” He then realized he was staring and quickly looked away.

“I take it you like it too?” Ian asked. “You have a lot of those videos.”

“I’m not talking about that shit with you,” Mickey snapped. “Just stop going through my shit, or you and me are gonna have a problem.” He realized he was starting to sound repetitive, but he needed to get through to the guy somehow.

“Do all pizza delivery guys do what that guy did?” Ian asked earnestly, his expression serious. 

Mickey scrubbed a hand down his face. He really wished Ian wouldn't look at him like that. “No, just… stop asking me so many fuckin’ questions. Why the fuck aren’t you gone yet?”

“You know, if you want me to leave so bad, all you have to do is make your wishes,” the genie said, his jaw taut. “Simple as that. You have two left.”

Mickey snuck a look at Ian as he headed into the kitchen to pop a TV dinner into the microwave. He would never admit it in a million years, but he actually didn’t hate having Ian around. It was actually kind of nice having someone around, even if it was an annoying-ass genie who kept asking him stupid questions and going through all his shit. 

“I haven’t decided my wishes yet,” Mickey grumbled. He knew it wouldn’t be hard to come up with stuff to wish for, considering his life was shit, and he didn’t have much. He wanted to take his time, though, wanted to get it right. It wasn’t often a genie came around, offering to grant you anything you wanted. Okay, it was completely fucking unheard of, but Mickey was going to go with it. 

“You’re the first person I’ve served that hasn’t known what to wish for,” Ian said as he followed Mickey into the small kitchen. “Most people wish for money, cars, better looks…”

Mickey sighed as he looked through the freezer. “I don’t need a car.” It was true. The garage he worked at was three blocks away, the store he shopped at for groceries was across the street, and the club he got dick from was a hop, skip, and a jump away.

“I’ve had a lot of people wish for an ass like yours.”

Mickey dropped the TV dinner he had in his hand at that. He then bent down to retrieve it. He could feel his cheeks getting warm. He absolutely refused to fucking acknowledge that he was blushing. “Fuck off.”

Ian continued speaking as if he hadn’t just complimented Mickey’s ass. “Maybe I can help you decide what to wish for. I’m good at it.”

“I don’t need your fuckin’ help,” Mickey mumbled as he threw his dinner in the microwave. “You eat today?” 

“I don’t really eat.”

Mickey turned to regard Ian with raised eyebrows. “What do you mean, you don’t eat?”

“I eat, just not often." Ian's eyes then averted to the microwave. "And definitely not the things you do." 

Mickey shook his head and turned towards the microwave. He braced himself against the countertop and watched as the seconds ticked away. He then stiffened when he felt Ian behind him. He swallowed hard, the air crackling with electricity around them. “Do you mind?” he croaked. “The fuck are you standing so close for?”

“I like you,” Ian said. “You smell good.”

“Okay,” Mickey snapped, spinning to face him. He then realized just how close Ian was and the words died on his lips. 

Ian smiled softly as he stared back, his eyebrow quirking just the slightest little bit. 

“Okay,” Mickey said again, snapping out of it. He placed a hand on Ian’s broad, bare chest and pushed him back a few feet. “Fuck,” he muttered seemingly against his will at the feel of Ian’s soft, warm skin and taut muscle under his hand. “If you’re gonna be here, we have to set some boundaries.”

“Boundaries?”

“Yes, fucking boundaries,” Mickey snapped. “First, stop looking at me like you do.”

“Like what?”

“Like you wanna fucking eat me or something,” Mickey exclaimed. “And stop getting so close. You can’t just walk up behind people like that. Especially not in this neighborhood. It could get you killed.” 

Ian just nodded, taking Mickey’s words in with furrowed brows. 

Mickey finally removed his hand from Ian’s chest and scrubbed a hand down his face. “I’ll answer whatever questions you have, but stay outta my shit and my personal space. I mean it.”

“Okay,” Ian conceded. 

Mickey eyed him for a minute before sighing. “Wait here.” He disappeared into his bedroom and returned a few seconds later carrying an old Black Sabbath shirt. “Put this on.” He watched as Ian slipped the shirt on. A part of him was sad to see the exposed skin go. He cleared his throat and turned away to grab his TV dinner. “It’s cold out. You shouldn’t be walking around shirtless.” Mickey knew it was also because he’d eventually get in trouble if he had to keep seeing Ian shirtless, but Ian certainly didn’t need to fucking know that.

“Cold, right,” Ian said, a tone to his voice that Mickey hadn’t heard up until that point. “It’s not because you look at me like you want to eat me too, right?”

Mickey slowly turned around to look at Ian, his mind completely blown. Maybe the innocent, harmless genie wasn’t so fucking naive after all.

Fuck, Mickey knew he was in trouble.

**Author's Note:**

> This is different from anything I've ever written before. Please let me know what you think! Also, the second part will be much longer and much more *cough* eventful lol


End file.
